


Go Not Gently

by momentarycarbonstory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sick Fic, vague mentions of wounds + death but no character death!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9159667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentarycarbonstory/pseuds/momentarycarbonstory
Summary: It's a rare day that Pike falls ill. It's also a rare day that a de Rolo loses presence of dignity. That these two occasions coincide is of course completely by chance and should not be considered closely. Not even slightly. At all.





	1. Good men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memorysdaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/gifts).



> A few things to keep in mind:  
> \- Obviously Pikeval, so there has been no confession of love from anyone.  
> \- There is no exact time for this, but I'd set this somewhere between the defeat of the Frigid Doom and the time before they started gathering forces to fight Thordak.  
> \- I'm not completely familiar about the rules of fevers when it comes to spells in DnD, and descriptions about curing illnesses seem very vague, so bear with me on this.

Stiff fingers were the first indicator of how much time had passed.

Percy winced, the ache under his shoulder blades flaring, and tore his eyes away from his workbench to look out the window. Frost had gathered on the window panes and around the stained glass crests of the de Rolo family, obscuring the swaths of stars he’d stared up at since he was a child. Judging by the movement he’d heard during the day and the absolute lack of it at this time combined with darkness outside, it was well past the time to be in bed. Cassandra was probably deep in sleep by now. The group would be asleep, or at least in their own rooms. All that was left of the waking world now were guards and a handful of militia patrols.

He stretched, joints popping in quick succession. Working in his old rooms was certainly an experience. Not a bad one, but it’d taken some getting used to. It was odd having a sky and familiar streets to look at, a bed to fall into that was only one door down and more than a simple cot.

The place was still a mess though. Housekeeping was barred access to his workshops, and he still had to venture down to the basement for the more...experimental projects he had in mind.

A firm knock made him swivel around in his chair, and his heart jumped. It was seldom he got visitors to his rooms. With Whitestone still being rebuilt he spent much of the daytime outside helping with construction or inside making plans. Tinkering was reserved strictly for after dark when the entire castle retired for the day. Anyone coming to the castle, much less to his room, would only be here if there was some sort of emergency.

He leapt up from his chair and yanked the door open, coat half on, and was met with…

Nothing?

“Wow, you get ready fast.”

He looked down to find Pike beaming gently up at him.

“Pike? Are you alright?”

“Of course I am, Percy. Or should I call you ‘Lord de Rolo’?”

“Er...Percy’s fine,” he replied, baffled at her calm.

She giggled. “Percy, relax. You can take your coat off.”

He remained somewhat tense, but shrugged off his coat slowly, opening his door a little wider. “I thought perhaps there was some sort of emergency. I don’t really get visitors at this time.”  
  
“No emergency. Just wanted to talk.”

“I see. Can I offer you a...” his eyes went to tall silver coffee pot on his workbench gone cold since a few hours ago, “...cup of something that is _not_ that? Or a place to sit?” His eyes drifted to the pack hanging off one shoulder. “...Where are you going?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. I’m going down to the town for the night. One of the guards told me a group of refugees came over the mountains and they’re in pretty bad shape. They’ll probably need every cleric and priest they can get their hands on.”

He sank back into his chair, letting out a long breath. “...Why did no one tell me? Or Cassandra for that matter?”

“They reached Whitestone just now. I promised the guard I’d bring news to you myself, then to Cassandra.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll dispatch some help from the castle.”

“They have people in the town helping already apparently. But if they need more I can send you word.” She shifted a little. “...Please get some rest. You and Cassandra have been working so hard. I know you’re both exhausted.”

He breathed out a laugh, skin of his face feeling tight with exhaustion, and looked her over. How she managed to look as awake as she did was beyond him. According to Cassandra, Pike had been rather a driving force in the rebuilding of his home. Several of the townspeople knew her by name and face, and greeted her happily when she walked the streets. He’d worked alongside her while rebuilding too. He had his measure of brains as a man of science, but she was truly a force of nature, moving from one task to another, always ready to help or hold something heavy in place one moment, then gently lay hands over a wound the next.

Whitestone was truly blessed to have her moving through it's streets. 

“—rcy. Percy?”

“Yes? Yes, I’m sorry. I…” He scratches his forehead, reaching for words that wouldn’t come.

A thin line formed between her brows. "You should really get some sleep.”

“No no, I’m not tired. Just have a lot to think about.” He ran a hand over his face. “Actually. I just had a thought.”

“…Okay?”

“Stop me if I’ll be no good. But if there is any way, _any_ way at all that I can be of help to you, I’d like to offer it.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

"Percival, you’ve been working all day.”

“So have you.”

“Well yes, but…” Now she fumbled for words, her pack slowly sliding to the ground. “You’ve been out there hammering away at buildings and windows. And when you’re not, you’re in the war room planning for the town’s defense. You only stay up as long as you do to so you can relax, and you probably only last an hour before you sleep.”

“And you don’t do the same?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I’m… _me_. I’m a cleric. It’s my job.”

“You say that as if it’s nothing.”

It might’ve been the lack of light tricking his eyes, but he thought he saw her cheeks grow a little more pink. “I’m sworn to help people. And I like to help.”

“So do I, in spite of my best efforts earlier in life.” He heaved himself up out of his chair and reached again for his coat. “Are your objections based solely on your belief that I should be resting?”

“Yes?”

“In other words, if I were still awake enough I could be of use to you?”

“...Yes?”

“Then consider me your assistant for the next few hours.”

“Percy…”

“I’m used to staying up much longer than this, and they are people who have come to my home seeking refuge. I am bound and honored to help them. And,” he added, adjusting his collar, “I’d be honored to help you.”

Her cheeks tinged pink again, but there were no objections. Now there was only a smile.

“…Alright, stubborn one. But we're probably staying out all night.”

He held his door open again, bowing slightly. "After you."


	2. Close of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of wounds and death since this is a distressing situation, but it will not be graphic!

After the journeys through and around Vasselheim, the cold of home held no obstacles save for the occasional slippery road. Both made their way down from the castle without much difficulty, and in a matter of minutes were met with a small crowd of people.

It was as if the town had forgotten that it was no longer daytime. Lights in every building of the square were on, people dressed sloppily but fully. A few had brought carts out with herbs and flowers, others with bread and meat. The tavern windows were blazing with light, frantic talk filtering out each time the door opened. A few people were splitting up the new arrivals in ways that he couldn't decipher. The entire thing was somewhat overwhelming to behold, but Pike looked right at home, striding quickly through and sections of the crowd to a few guards, and a man he recognized as the local apothecary.

"Lady Pike!" one of them exclaimed. He didn't have to see her face for him to know how sheepish she'd become at the name. If not for the dire situation around them he might've laughed.

"Hello. I'm here like I promised. And," she looked over her shoulder with a smile, "I brought help."

The apothecary looked as though he'd been granted the greatest treasure in the world, and hobbled up to Percy. "Lord de Rolo...! It is so _good_ of you to come and help us!"

He looked between the shivering old creature who'd just taken possession of his hand, the guardsmen and volunteers who looked very much in awe of him, and Pike, who nodded her head encouragingly. Percy pressed both his hands to the old one in his palm. "Truly, the honor is all mine. I am your humble servant. And Lady Pike's, of course."

She gave him a scolding look and held out her pack, not waiting for him to entirely take possession of it before letting it go, and raised her voice to command the attention of the volunteers.

What ensued for the next few hours was nothing less than madness.

First, the refugees were 'triaged', as Pike called it. Those would could walk were guided to the tavern for food and a chance to rest their feet. Those who could not were moved off of carts, picked up, or limped with the help of others to the front of the local dance hall. These were further divided by the severity of their wounds. Those who were tearing at the seams or in need of immediate assistance were taken into hall. Those with wounds that could be stitched or patched were guided to the inn. He was in charge of these first, which he'd thought would be simple until confronted with the sheer stubbornness of their desire to help. Those that could still walk claimed they weren't tired, and those that looked absolutely worn claimed they only needed food and an hour in a chair before they would be moving again. One or two escaped him and reappeared while helping a fellow refugee get somewhere. Some simply didn't want to be parted from their families. He spent a great deal of time reassuring many a sister or uncle or friend that their loved one was in another building.

It felt like several hours, but only two had passed before all were in the proper places they needed to be. Next, he was put in charge of distributing potions to medics, priests and clerics. "Careful with these," the apothecary said, handing him a crate full of bottles with a pat on the arm. "Like precious gems they are."

"Believe me, sir, I know _exactly_ what you mean."

After distributing these he made runs for various supplies. Pieces of gauze coming from the tailor's shop, the place filled with the sounds of rips, tears and scissors. Then to the apothecary's shop, which was occupied by six quarreling healers forming an assembly line to unravel the gauze, dip it into something oily, dry it, and wind it up again. He moved between the inn and dance hall to hand these out to nurses. He offered the guards help burning clothes and bandages that were too torn or bloodied to be used. He helped a group of volunteers make packs of dried herbs meant to ease pain and draw poison out of wounds. A crate of cold sandwiches was shoved into his hands by the very overworked but very determined tavern owner at one point, which he gave out to anyone who looked hungry. Every so often he'd see a flash of light through a window, telling of the clerics at work, and he hoped they were proving less staunch about refusing potions than some of the wounded.

Between his duties he spotted Pike moving between buildings and people. First he found her talking to a few guards about who was allowed to move and who wasn't for the sake of keeping things organized. Another time he found her bent over someone with an ugly gash in their stomach, hands aglow as she ran them slowly over the wound. Then she was wiping the tears a crying child and pressing a kiss to her head, murmuring a few words of comfort. Then, wrapping the feet of an elder with blisters. Healing the broken bones in someone's leg. Easing someone into bed, or helping someone rise. Talking with the priests. Listening to the guards talk about safety at the borders. Applying poultices to gashes less deep. Helping stitch a wound closed. Finding places for people to sleep. At one point he found her holding the hand of another cleric as they healed three deathly injured people at once, stealing his breath away in a blaze of light.

Finally, in the earliest hours of the morning, things began to slow down. Less gauze needed to be made. Most of the potions were gone, and a few people were helping to make more just in case. The tavern was less loud. Windows had grown dim. Many people patted his back or shook his hand, but as soon as he could he went looking for Pike, the sandwich she'd waved off before still in his pocket.

He was directed to a solemn-looking building with no sign, the air heavy with silence, people laid out in rows barely moving, many barely breathing. He found her beside the a man whose head was swathed with bandages.

"...At least...I got to feel home beneath...my feet. Right?"

"You did."

"What...does it...look like?"

"So much better than the way it was left."

A shaking smile came over the man's face. "Honest?"

"Honest. I'm helping rebuild it myself."

The man let out a choked laugh, reaching clumsily for her hand.

"It's okay," she whispered gently. "Go on. Your family will be there."

"...Promise?"

"I promise."

A few more moments and his chest fell, and did not rise again.

He watched as Pike slowly took her symbol of Sarenrae into both hands and pressed a kiss to it, murmuring a prayer for the newly deceased, humble and small and so, _so_ strong. And for one brief impetuous moment, all he wanted to do was take her and fly away from everything.

The stars had weakened by the time they sat in the empty tavern, bones creaking and eyelids heavy. He passed her the sandwich, which she ate through as if not paying attention to taste or amount.

"...How do you bear it."

She looked up from her sandwich in question.

"The damage and turmoil. The death. How do you carry it with you?"

"Practice, I think. I've done this for years now."

"...Years?" Her startled look made his heart jump, and he scrambled for a less choked, less shocked voice. "I suppose it makes sense," he said quickly, "but...it can't be easy."

She blinked at him, and for a moment he was afraid he'd offended her in his effort to turn her worry away.

Damn it.

"It's not," she finally said with a shrug. "But it's something that you...I guess I can't say you get used to it. Or maybe you do. Not completely. But you learn what to do, how to move with and around it. You learn how to carry it without blaming yourself. Or you do your best to try." She lifted her ale mug. "You've seen your share of death. You know what it's like."

"I have," he said slowly, "but our positions are not the same." He tapped the handle of his cup. "I suppose what I'm trying to say, in my own convoluted way, is that...it seems hard. And I wish there was a way it didn't have to be."

"So do I."

"But," he continued, "you've found a way through it and...it is different from how I might've done, different from how I _have_ done, and I'm relieved for that."

Unblinking eyes suddenly fixed on him, and his heart dropped. Dear _gods_ , could he ever say anything truthfully?

"...Are you saying you're proud of me, Percy?"

He couldn't bear the weight of her eyes, and so he ducked his head under the pretense of a weak laugh. "Yes. I am."

Her tone was an amused one. "Why Percy, that's the nicest thing you've ever said. Though you could just say so," she teased. 

He chanced lifting his eyes to hers. "...Then I will. I am proud. And I'm glad that I came with you. Until today I didn't realize how much went into the care of my people, and I have much to thank you for."

She shifted in her seat, now quite flushed. "Hey now," she said, a laugh tumbling from her.

"I don't mean to embarrass you. But truly, I am and will always be grateful for your help."

"...To the rebuilding of Whitestone then?" she said, lifting her glass.

"To the rebuilding of Whitestone, and the people who make it possible."


	3. Dying light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, we make our way toward the more overt Pikeval! HUEHUEHUEEEH~~~

The journey home was a quiet one, filled only with the crunching of snow underfoot and the labored breathing that came with the climb up to the castle. He was grateful for the cold that stung his lungs and nostrils; disasters came with their own smells, and the freshly-falling snow did it's job job washing away the stench of injury and strife.

The maid at the entrance was startled by their appearance, eyeing their removed coats much as one would a pest, resolute as she was in taking them.

"Do not bother waking Lady Cassandra up," he said, taking Pike's coat and scarf and looping them over his arm. "But when she does wake, let her know that the situation in town has been taken care of. Lady Pike is also not to be disturbed for the next six hours."

Climbing upstairs was excruciating. He felt like a sack of potatoes by the time they reached the top, drooping eyelids and shoulders, heavy feet and limp hands. It was a miracle that Pike managed to get to her door, much less bid him have a good sleep. He barely had time to discard boots and vest before collapsing onto his own bed, immediately falling into a boneless, dreamless sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, he was disoriented by the darkness. What time was it? What _day_ was it?

He squinted. The curtains to his windows had been drawn, though a sliver of sunshine shone through a crack not properly covered. The clothes had been removed from his floor. The door to his left open, and he watched someone, expertly balancing two trays in their hands. One was slid onto his desk.

He fumbled for his glasses. "Who goes there?"

" _Pelor_!" Cassandra exclaimed, clamping her hand over her mouth right after. "...Percival, you startled me!"

" _I_ startled you?"

" _Well_. I'm relieved to see you awake at last. It's been ten hours. One of the maids came to me saying you entered the castle a couple of hours before sunrise."

"There was a situation in town."

"The new refugees?"

"Yes. They were properly cared for."

She looked down at the tray left in her hands and padded softly over to his bedside, sitting on the edge. "...Here. You should eat something."

"I don't know if I can," he said, reaching for the glass of water. "...Thank you, by the way."

"I'm sure you'll manage. And you're welcome." She looked over her shoulder. "The other one is for Pike, but I don't know if I should disturb her. A few guards came and told me about what she did. About what both of you did."

"I merely did as I was told," he murmured. "Pike organized almost everything. She moved the refugees, cared for the injured and the dying, carried out her duties as a cleric, and found the time to be kind in between." He plunked the empty water glass down on his nightstand. "She called it all 'just doing her job'. It was a mess I could barely comprehend and she thrived in it."

Cassandra raised both her eyebrows, offering him a plate of something. "And this was all night?"

"That is correct."

"If it's as chaotic as you and the guards make it sound, I'm surprised you're awake."

"So am I." He ran a hand over his face. "I hadn't expected apathy, but...I had not expected such altruism in a place still rebuilding. Or such strength in a single cleric. Sometimes I forget what my friends are...capable of? Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

" _That_."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're a terrible liar."

"And _you_ ruminate too much," she replied, ruffling his hair. "Now finish eating. You can take that tray over there to Pike afterwards."

She was out the door before he could say otherwise.

~

Half an hour later, Percy stood bleary-eyed and hesitant in front of Pike's door, tray held carefully in both hands. Ten hours of sleep was probably enough. Or was it? She'd worked so hard just from what he'd seen in passing. But to be asleep this long? ...No no, she might not like it. And she really should eat something. Yes, he would simply pop in quietly and drop this off, see if maybe she was awake. If she ate quickly she could go back to sleep, remain untouched by the busy world a little longer.

He opened the door slowly, expecting to see her deep in sleep, or at least taking her first breaths as she blinked her way to consciousness once more.

He did not expect to find her on the floor lying sideways.

The tray hit the ground, glass shattering.

He’d never been more thankful for his height as he reached her in all of two strides, throwing himself on his knees beside her. “ _PIKE_?!"

No reply. Her arms were cast careless aside her on the cold stone floor, legs at odd angles. Blood? None. No broken window or strange instruments. No knives or darts. No odd marks on her skin that he could see. There were a few books around her, one opened to a page on herbs he recognized grew in the region. He held the back of his hand in front of her mouth, watching her chest for the tell-tale—

Rise. Fall. He felt warmth brush across the skin of his hand. She was breathing.

“Oh thank goodness,” yanked its way out of his mouth before he could stop it, closely followed by a slap on the forehead.

…Of _course_ she was breathing. This was a room in his home, not an oubliette. She was young (like him) and prone to making good decisions (unlike him). Perhaps she hadn't reached her bed before falling asleep. Or she was reading up on a curiosity before sleep. Death would not take her by force, and likely not for a very long time, and certainly not here.

A pitiful moan snapped his attention back. She squinted against the light filtering through her windows. “...rcy?" Her eyes wandered around the room in a daze, and finally landed behind him. "...Are you alright?"

He followed her line of sight to the fallen tray. Heat flared up his neck. "Of course I am. But you're on the floor! Are _you_ alright?"

"...You just said that," she replied, smile trickling into a wince as a hand went to her head. "I'm fine, really. Got a terrible headache though."

He peered at her closely, moving her hand aside to find a dark splotch decorating the right side of her forehead. "Do you remember anything about when you got up?"

“Dunno. Think it was a few hours ago? I thought about an herb and got up to get a book about it, but then...everything went black.”

Between the great effort it took for her to stand and her only unsteady step forward before falling, he expected that it was not sleep that'd claimed her before she made it back to her bed, that many previous nights spent up past point of exhaustion were entirely at fault, and that maybe he could've prevented this. Somehow.

He didn’t have to lean far to catch her, feeling like a titan as he stood at his full height with her curled in his arms.

“...I’m going take you to bed now, alright?”

“Keeping talking like that and you’ll have to fight Scanlan.”

“Is this really the proper time or place for this conversation?”

“We're not in a temple. I think I'm fine."

“I see.”

Her head fell with a gentle thump against his heartbeat, laughter parched and gravelly. "You're always so serious, Percival."

A smile tugged at his mouth even as his heart clenched.

He held her a little tighter.


	4. Words forked

Everyone was at her room within the hour. Between the sound of shattering glass and the general shift in atmosphere as more people came to find out what was wrong, it was hardly surprising to see so many people crowding the hallway. Vox Machina in its entirety was present first, of course, piling into the room with a million questions, all trying to fit around her bedside. A healer coherent enough to make a prognosis confirmed Percy's suspicions: fatigue and extreme exhaustion brought on by a consistent lack of sleep and the strain of her role as a cleric.

Guilt immediately assailed him. He should have stopped her going last night. Or better still, gone himself and convinced her to stay in. He was the lord of Whitestone wasn't he? They'd only been back for a single day. Anyone with sense would've told her to get some rest.

His apologies were kindly accepted but deemed unnecessary — _you couldn't have known, that sounds like you Pike, Percival do you actually think you could've stopped her?_ — and she reassured him several times that it wasn't his fault. That she'd been the careless one, not staying in bed or getting the proper rest, putting too much strain on herself when she should've known better. "I've done this before," were her last sleepy words on the subject. "I'll be fine. I just need rest." 

Instead of paying attention to the gnawing in his chest he put himself to work. He buried himself in Whitestone's affairs, only stopping to poke his head through her door and see how she was. He made sure food got up to her room on time, and reminded her to stay in bed. He carried books up from Whitestone's library for her to read, piling them quietly on her nightstand when he found her deep in sleep.

The end of the day brought him some some hope of recovery as she wished him goodnight with a tired smile, but the image of her limp on the floor clawed at his mind.

This wouldn’t do at all. Concern was all well and fine but it wouldn't do to be so unfocused. Not now. There were still dragons to kill and people to take care of. Things still needed to be rebuilt and organized. Pike wouldn't want him to become consumed by this. ...Or would she be touched by the fretting, the inordinate concern and fuss that came with taking care of the sick?

He grit his teeth. ...It was just exhaustion. It happened. He'd had it happen personally. A good night's rest, maybe two for good measure, and she'd be back on her feet.

It’d be fine.

She’d be fine.


	5. And learn, late

The second day was harrowing.

Quiet hung heavy in the castle when he woke before dawn. Something was wrong. Not in the way of an impending doom. But something was out of place. He dresseed slowly, hoping to find refuge in habit before confronting whatever lurked outside his door.

Maybe he was imagining things.

Keyleth opened his door without knocking just as he looped his cravat. "Um...Percy?"

He ran a hand over his face. "...It's Pike isn't it."

"...Yeah."

They said nothing on their way there, afraid to disturb the tension coiled like a thunderclap.

The room was full of murmurs, which hushed immediately when he and Keyleth walked in. Dimly, he registered Keyleth speaking as he sat at Pike's bedside, the flush on her skin impossible to miss even in the light of a single candle. Keyleth explained her decision to check on Pike was on a whim. She talked about walking through the hallways and feeling the same thing instinctual wrongness in the air and figuring it couldn't hurt. About finding her breathing too fast, too warm to the touch, and he didn't want to hear it, he _didn't_ , but he _made_ himself listen. These things had to be done right. He needed to know how and why, so that he could come up with a 'what next', because he is their planner. If you can't plan to avoid trouble, you plan in order to get rid of it.

Everyone is bleary-eyed from barely waking, but they are able-bodied and ready.

"...First," he murmured, "we'll need a healer again."

Grog declared he was getting the healer, and Vex followed so he wouldn't lose his way. He sent Scanlan for the apothecary. He hesitated to wake Cassandra, but Keyleth recommended it and Vax assured him with authority that his sister would never consider him a disturbance. Both promised to alert the castle staff and watch Pike while things are put in order. With one last look at their cleric, Percy made his way out again, feet moving faster and faster until he was catching himself against the wall near Cassandra's room.

It was a fever. Fevers went away with good medicine and rest. They had a plan to make that happen. Plans meant stability. Structure. Surety. Or so the logical side of his brain says.

The other side of his brain — the one that knew chance existed, the one that knew it could not fix everything with just facts and the tools at his disposal — flared with an almost insubordinate worry. She was strong. She was one of the most capable fighters he'd ever known. She had cheated death, and from a dragon no less. Yet she was laid low because of an enemy they could not see and one she could not fight with any magic or metal.

 _It's not fair_ he started to think, and pushed away the thought as quickly as it rose.

Sunrise came and naturally the entirety of Whitestone knew about her illness within the hour. People sent their regards up from town, which he accepted numbly in the form of missives and flowers he deposited onto her desk. Cassandra spent about as much time fussing as he did, moving books and furniture to make room for those looking after Pike. They both spent breakfast choosing a specific set of servants to see to her needs, and to the needs of those seeing to her health. Before the sun even got close to dipping below the horizon, he'd installed both a healer and the apothecary in their own rooms with their own tools and supplies.

"She'll be fine," he murmured to Grog as they went to Gilmore for extra potions. "We've known her for years, and she's endured far worse than this. Probably at our expense."

"She _was_ doing a good thing," he agreed with Vex and Vax over lunch. "I expect it'll only be two days before she's back in town checking up on things."

"I'm sure with adequate rest she'll be fine," he replied to Keyleth as they counted the hours at her bedside.

"I wonder if this is how she feels," he murmured to Cassandra, "when we fall ill or come to her with our more grievous injuries."

"You are worried then?"

He sighed, trying to formulate an answer, and came up with none.

"I've never seen you this worried about something like this before. Not even when we were younger."

"I didn't know as much as I do now."

"So 'learn more, have more to worry about'?"

"Something like that."

Cassandra gave him a look with such frankness he could've trace through his ancestral line. "Percival."

"It isn't often this happens," he said carefully. "People get sick all the time, I realize that. She's had a sick day or two. Actually, she's spent more days in bed due to injury or fatigue, but this? She collapsed from exhaustion because she wanted to help. I feel as though we asked too much of her. Or have been asking too much of her."

Paper shifted behind him, and his sister joined him in leaning against her desk. "...You feel guilty?"

He tipped his head back, letting out another sigh. "...I do."

"You couldn't have seen this happening."

"I know. But I feel as though I should have. ...On our travels, I learned to see these people as my family, her included. When they found me in that cell and broke me out, she was one of the first who spoke, and remained determined to treat me like a human being in spite of my mistrust. And that continued even when I had so much I wanted to hide. She healed my injuries and spoke kindly without thinking about if I'd do it back. Of course I did, but she didn't always know that. They, she, saw me as a man who'd made mistakes, but not...not as a man who _only_ made mistakes. I could be better than I was. It became more than just owing a debt of gratitude. It gave me something to protect, and I hadn't had that in such a long time. So I decided whatever I did would be dedicated to keeping them safe."

"...And all this rose simply from finding her on the floor of her room?"

"...I realize it sounds ridiculous—"

"No. It doesn't." He must've looked baffled, because she laughed. "Percival." A few of her fingers touched his elbow. "...Percy. You care a lot about them, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you...care about _her_ a lot too."

"I..." His head drew back. It was such a novel idea, it nearly blindsided him. "...I suppose I do."

"I believe," she said with finality, "that the healer was waiting for herbs. I'm sure that between the refugees and news of Pike, the healers down below are beside themselves with work. Perhaps you help?"

He didn't remember his answer after leaving the study, nor his journey down to the the town as the last of the sun drops below the horizon. He barely remembered paying someone for the crate of herbs in his hands before he's stopped halfway back to the castle, heartbeat so heavy could've been as audible as his breath.

"Oh gods," he whispered, reverent and terrified under the starlight. "Oh _gods_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little more overtly Pike/Percy! I know this took a while to build. Thank you for your patience.


	6. Frail deeds

The third day was torture.

Smitten was too fragile a word and belonged entirely to the realm of those younger than him. Infatuated would suggest something bordering unreasonable, which he certainly was not. Enamored was too flippant, enchanted too flowery, bewitched too superfluous.

Fond? Yes...but more.

In love?

...He dared not think about it.

All he knew was that what decent hours of sleep he'd gotten felt like they didn't matter. His friends assure him that they were watching her and he could look after Whitestone without worrying. They'd come and get him if she got any worse. But concentration was a dream now. What projects he'd had in mind only days prior held no allure or joy. Simple repairs would be over far too quickly, his mind left to run endlessly. Keyleth had to reassure him twice before he could wear a hole in the floor that Pike was holding steady, and that if he wanted to look after her for a while he could, only he shouldn't wear himself out in the process.

When he finally does venture in, it is with an uncustomary shyness that (thankfully) no one noticed. He was handed a cold compress and a jug of something herbal, and told the hours during which to administer both.

In the back of his mind his composure screamed at him, and he grit his teeth against it. He'd said it himself hadn't he? Taking care of his family was the most important thing. She was his friend. A dear friend, good woman, small and humble and brave and strong and so, _so_ kind, and if he had to lose his mind worrying for a few days just to help her regain her health, then by the planes, was it even a sacrifice?

~

Daylight grew full and dimmed.

The others rotated in and out, pressed him into eating meals he wasn't hungry for.

Whitestone carried on below. His sister got on with her duties and did not send for him.

He applied cold towels to Pike's forehead and propped her up in his arms to drink teas and tinctures he was certain did not taste good, and apologized softly every time.

Night falls. He'd have sworn he'd aged a year.

"Percy, you should get some rest."

"It's fine, Keyleth. I'm not really tired."

"You've been here all day."

"I know. But I've always kept strange hours out of habit. I figured I could use them for something better than aimless tinkering."

She looked very much like she wants to protest, but did not. Maybe she saw the determination in his eyes, or noted his worry through his constant presence.

"...Okay." She set an oil lamp down at his side. "Just tell us if anything happens. ...You're okay, right?"

His heartbeat quickened again, and he almost told her. He _almost..._

"I am."

"Good, good. ...Good night, Percy. Try to sleep before sunrise, please."

And he was left alone with his thoughts, and the one person he could not share them with even if she were wide awake.

~

Hours crawled by. He read, first quietly, then to her, pages and pages of aimless facts about herbs in the area, local tales, family history. Every half-chapter he pressed a hand to her forehead, hoping to bring it away cool. His voice grew hoarse, silenced altogether by the soft, distressed groans coming out of her with growing frequency. Even the medicine didn't seem to help much. He'd been warned about this. The 'true burning of the fever' as the healer called it. Absolute rest so that the body could commit to the last hurdle, mind and matter fighting together as one.

Inexplicably, the corners of his eyes began to sting. He thought about the moment he'd found her on the floor, held her in his arms, small with her head against his chest. Did she desire to be held and looked after at times, when the nights were long or harrowing and the days difficult? Would it make her happy? Could she stand being sheltered in the arms of a man like him? Or was she fine the way she was, comfortable with her solitude?

A shaky breath.

“...I know this is a fever,” he said aloud, suddenly, as if to reassure himself. He stared straight at the window, where her symbol of Sarenrae lay propped to face her. “This is a fever and it will go away in a few days. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe by the end of the week. It’s not going to kill her.”

He looked down at Pike. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, brows drawn in a restless sleep, chest rising and falling quicker than he knew to be normal. She shivered violently, and curled into a ball. 

His jaw clenched.

“...The Gods are not for me; I cannot trust them. But I am aware of what following one entails, and who she follows. Such devotion and kindness is worth keeping her alive, I think.”

He took one of Pike’s hands in his, trying to commit every detail, every birthmark to memory. “I am not a selfless being or an entirely honest one. I do not express things as they should be expressed, and I do not like people to see me for what I am when it is uncomfortable. But I have never been treated so kindly and without judgement, nor so tenderly without thought of reward, by any other being I’ve met. She has saved my life many times, and given it back to me more than once.” His throat tightened. “...And I will not have the chance to thank her snatched away by an illness,” he whispered. “No matter what she thinks of me, there are friends she loves, and they love her. I have not known a greater love than such family in so long. And it is worth returning to across any fire or obstacle.”

With the greatest care, he folded her hand between both his, and pressed lips that he realized only now were trembling to the edge of her palm.

_Seeing you awake would be enough. I won't even breathe a word of the past twenty-four hours. Just open your eyes._

_Come back.  
_

_Please._


	7. Sang the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh, and it is a sweet one! Thank you so so SO much for your patience. I realize this last chapter came out a little later than expected, but I wanted it to be nicer than what I had down before. (I will probably still be coming back to make changes too.)
> 
> I am very honored to have participated in this. I hope your holidays were great!

The fourth day, he was undone.  
  
Sunrise. Birds chirping outside the window, the sky pale with new light. Eyelashes brush the sheets his cheek is pressed down against. His glasses were smudged. His stomach felt like an empty pit. There was still a small hand in his.

...And now two blue eyes on him.

He bolted upright, stiff arms and back catching up with him a second later. "... _Ow._ "

"Good morning, Percy."

"Good morning! How are you feeling?"

"I'm...fine."

He noticed her staring, wondering why and—

Ah.

He was still holding her hand.

"Er..." was the only eloquent response he could manage before the door burst open.

Grog came stomping in, followed closely by a few others (he can't remember which, he was too focused on yanking his hand away from hers, hoping no one saw). The barrage of questions followed; how did she feel, was she hurting anywhere, how long had she been awake, was she feeling feverish still, et cetera.

The others questioned and embraced and kissed her, and he was content to watch, soft and quiet emotion curling in his chest.

She was alright.

She was _alright_.

He didn't get to say much in between. Nor did he feel words come to him. Nor did it feel as though they could've meant much. Most all he could do was smile back when she did the same to him, warm and grateful. His bones felt lighter somehow when he slipped out to wake his sister.

So a hopeful day dawned once more on Whitestone, and he felt the world sigh with relief beneath his feet.

~

The town was overjoyed. The healer who'd taken care of her ran down as quickly as their creaking legs can carry them, and two hours later visitors come and come, so many that eventually the guards have no choice but to let them in. Her room filled with all manners of fragrant flowers and baked goods and pieces of parchment with words from survivors and locals alike. She tried to get up several times (and was kept in bed all of those times, much to her disappointment). He went to her room, almost knocked, almost walked through the door, looked in over and over and over only to find her talking with someone. What could he do though? How could he intrude on the laughter of the others, or the conversations of visitors to say....what?

_I worried myself to distraction while you were sick with only a fever._

_Hello, yes, I hope you are alright? I know you've been asked that question many times._

_I thought you wouldn't wake, contrary to the facts of modern medicine and common sense._

_I found out I was in love with you at 2am while sneezing in the cold._

Yes, perfect. _Wonderful._

"Percival, go see her," Cassandra said, giving both him and the feet he'd hiked onto his desk a critical eye.

"I'd only be disturbing her."

"What _nonsense_."

"I spent a full day monopolizing her room and the previous two aggravating my friends by taking over what they could've done. I shouldn't intrude. They want to talk to her."

"And you're satisfied with that?"

"No, I am not. But now is not the time."

She smacked down a stack of papers in front of him, shaking her head. "At least peek through the door. Show her you care."

He had a neat, clean retort nearly falling from his lips, but...oh. Now _that_ was something he could do.

"I'll be back in a few hours."

~

The guests could come, Vox Machina could visit. That was alright. He would see her later. But words wouldn't be sufficient any longer with the way things were. Action was necessary.

So he sat down at his workshop table, cracked his knuckles, and was not seen about the castle for the next several hours. The only answer he gave when Cassandra inquired was (in lovely, curving handwriting):

_Showing her I care._

~

Night falls. Visitors are ushered away. And he is relieved to find the room empty at last.

"Percy, hey."

"Good evening."

She bowed her head, giggling. "You didn't come to see me during the day."

His fingers tightened around the handkerchief in his pocket.

"...I'm just teasing," she said, looking a little apologetic. "I didn't mean to make you so serious. I know you have Whitestone to take care of."

"...I..." He sank down into the chair. "...Actually, I...how are you feeling?"

"...Good," she said slowly, a thin line appearing between her eyebrows. "Tired. But I feel better."

"Excellent. You gave us quite a scare."

"Really?"

"Yes. You really were very ill."

"I thought it was just a fever."

"It was, but you  don't usually get ill."

"That's true."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "...I wanted to visit, but people kept coming. I felt like I would be intruding, and...I became consumed with a project."

"Project?"

He swallowed hard, and slowly removed the handkerchief from his pocket to extend to her. "...It's for you, actually."

"...For me?"

She peeled back the folds of the handkerchief one by one, until at last she arrived at the fruits of his labor. Three bright sprigs of gold, each shaped like a branch, leaves and flowers branched off each.

"They're hairpins. You've often said your hair gets in your face when we're out exploring or when you're healing. This was meant to be a get-well present. I know I told you the words 'thank you', but...it didn't feel like words were enough."

"So...you made this...today?"

"Yes."

"You... _weren't_ busy with Whitestone?"

"...No. ...This was bad timing."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "A little."

His eyes closed, and he breathed out a laugh. "...I'm sorry." He scooted his chair closer. "Truly I am. I didn't mean this as avoidance, but that is what happened. Perhaps something like this could have waited and I could have been here with the others."

Anger didn't take over her features. Actually, it didn't seem to have been there at all, though she did look rather grave all of a sudden. She carefully put aside his gift, peeled back her covers, and crossed her legs to sit in front of him. "The others told me that you were here all night."

"I was, yes."

"You should have gone to sleep. What if you'd gotten sick?"

"I don't have a regular sleeping schedule. I thought I might use that for something else for once. Two days prior I had juggled my duties and my friends, and I should have chosen to be here sooner."

She seemed to ignore this response. "I also heard that you nearly killed yourself the past few days getting help for me."

"That...is a bit of an exaggeration. I only did what had to be done, and I was able to do it."

"The healer also tells me that you were especially helpful to them. You gave them an assistant and got supplies personally."

"The townsfolk had enough to deal with."

"You checked in on the refugees?"

"Yes. I helped with some extra work since they were short-handed, and you worked hard to help them. They send their regards, by the way. I'm sure they were happy to hear you restored to health."

She looked down at her lap. "So...you did all this for me because it was proper?"

"Yes."

"Oh... Thank you."

Percy knew that for all his observations, sometimes he missed the mark. Sometimes he didn't know where to take his cues from or what to judge emotion by. But in this moment, Pike's eyes cast away, he almost dare to think...

"And," he added, "we were worried. ... _I_. Was worried."

Her eyes shot up, and he felt the full, earnest force of them. " _Y_ _ou_ were worried?"

"Well I'm not a golem, am I?"

"No, but...I don't think I've ever seen you look worried about these kinds of things."

"I can assure you I do indeed worry."

"Well, the others told me you were worried. I just didn't know if it was imagined or...something. I couldn't believe it."  
  
Suddenly her nails became vastly interesting to her. Silence pervaded, dragging and heavy.

A muscle in his cheek jumped.

"...May I be honest?" he said suddenly.

She nodded with some trepidation.

"...I do not always explain things," he said slowly. "Some call it strategy, choosing not to be straight-forward with your words. In this case, however...I know it is the easier way out." He folded his hands on the bed. "At first I did all these things because everyone was worried. Or at least this was my justification. It isn't as if I didn't worry, but I put in that feeling alongside everyone else's. By the second day of your illness though, it became clear to me that I wasn't only worried because it somehow amassed into a group-effort of concern. You mean a great deal to us. You also..." he was startlingly aware of how close her fingers were to his, "...I also owe you a lot."

"Me? Why?"

"...Well..." He cleared his throat. Oh, he should've written all of this down. "You, erm..." Another clearing of the throat. "...You gave me a pendant."

"The...oh, that pendant."

"Yes. You also helped give me my life back. On the day that you found me in that cell _and_ on the day I came back to life."

"Oh... That was just...what I needed to do."

"Maybe. But it meant something to me, aside from the most obvious aspect of being alive. I...was worth bringing back."

"Of course you were."

Something occurred to him. These were things that made sense to her. Her role as a cleric aligned with these things. They were natural. Normal. ...Not at all extraordinary for her.

...Oh dear.

He shut his eyes slowly, and he got up. "I shouldn't be talking about this."

"What? What do you mean?"

"You just woke up! I barged in with this ridiculous gift that's ill-timed—"

"Wh...Percy."

"—and then started talking about all these, these... _things_ that you shouldn't even be worrying about—"

"Percy?"

"—and it does  _not_ make sense. I shouldn't be—"

" _Percy._ "

On and on he went, pacing without even realizing it, rattling off and knowing full well this could only make the situation worse.

...What in the planes was he _doing_ _???_

A flutter of white and gold caught his eye, and he saw her trying to slide off her bed, her body wobbling. He didn't think, didn't say another word, as he rushed to her to keep her unmoved.

Time stopped again. Her arms were small in his hands, nightgown soft against his fingers. A wealth of gold hair cascaded over his wrists, tickling his skin. Her fingers dug into his vest.

"...Percy, listen to me."

"Alri—"

"And no talking."

He nodded slowly, stomach twisting.

"...You're telling me that you worried about me. Everything you did, you did because it made sense. You cared."

Nod.

"Okay. ...What I'm getting from this is that you did what you did, because you cared. But what I did...was only because it was my duty? As a cleric or your friend?"

Another nod, almost imperceptible.

"Isn't that for me to say?"

"...Yes, but..."  
  
She placed a few fingers over his mouth. "...Percy, I know you care but do you care... _about_ me?"  
  
“...Yes,” he mumbled against her skin.  
  
“You're _fond_ of me."  
  
“Yes,” he breathed. Gods, he wanted so much, it was so much just to muster the words, just to keep his head from swimming, his lungs from collapsing _..._ "...Pike, I am not a good man. I don't have that virtue."

She breathed out a laugh, and he drew in a sharp breath when her forehead met his. "Oh Percy... Goodness is a choice we make, not a virtue, and one I saw you make when you realized you could make it. I think you are a good man."

"After all I've done?"

"After all you've done. I know you'd never want to go back."

Her palm cupped his cheek, and he resists the temptation to close his eyes. No rest. Not yet. Not when there was so much to say.

"...I said I wanted to be honest," he murmured. "So I should keep going."

"Hm?"

"...I love you."

Now he couldn't stop looking at her. It was as though his eyes were locked and would be for eternity.

"I love you," he repeated. "I think I have for some time, actually. I only realized it yesterday. There is so much I could say that I couldn't say adequately by tomorrow, days from now. ...That goodness, those choices you made every day in spite of all you saw. I've always admire that. You, always so determined to see the good in people, with your feet on the ground but your heart open." He looked over her face. "You believed in me from the beginning, and you saw me as a man before I could tell what I was." He took a strand of her hair between his fingers.

Pink flared across her face, but she didn't shy away. Her other hand rose to his face.

"...I'm not saying this out of gratitude, before you ask. Your strength has always come from being kind, and in spite of all you saw and were hurt by, and I have always admired that. You kept your sweetness no matter the mountains you had to climb." He sat up a little, so his face was level with hers. "...I am not a perfect man. But I am determined to be a good one. Is it permissible for me to be at your side?"

"Permis..."

Laughter rose up from her throat, soft first, then outright, on and on and absolutely beautiful.

And she kissed him.

The honest gentleness reeled him in, melting his reserve into a sigh, eyes falling heavy as her breath fanned out against his upper lip, her eyelashes brushing his cheek. Everything was warm and soft and light, and he let himself drown in it all.

When she pulled away, it was only just enough to whisper. "...I love you too, Percy."

And if that didn't just steal away what breath he had left.

Hesitation no longer had meaning. He kissed her this time, hesitation pushed aside for honest ardor. She sucked in a surprise breath as a strong hand splayed over her back, fingers catching both shoulder blades, other tangling in her hair. Breathing became impossible. He wasn't sure anyone was built to contain this much emotion at once, bursting at the seams as he was with it. 

"...I love you..."

"...I love you..."

_I love you..._


End file.
